Archive for May, 2010

Ran into Style&Error vet’ Andre De Trichateau today, who looked very smooth indeed. Note the clever colour balance that he was operating. He initially criticised the size of my tie knot , (miniscule) , then launched into an anti-tie rant full stop.

Size Matters: Burberry tie, Spencer Hart shirt.

I recorded his articulate testimony and his slick little city look. See video below and spot the Italian luxury brand Andre is a affiliated with.

While chatting with him about todays and yesterday’s outfits, it became apparent we are cut from the same cloth on more matters than just snaffle love. He described the colour of the trousers he was wearing as ‘biscuit’ while yesterday’s jodhpurs were deemed to be ‘bone trimmed in caramel’. People like Andre and myself, (‘in fashion’ that is), never say a colour per se. It’s always either a very specific type of colour, a simile or colour metaphor. Fabrics become petrol or ivory or tomato. One talks of putty, cement and stone. Rooms are never blue but are midnight, powder, steel or teal. Its a bit like a fashion masonic handshake, in as much as you meet someone who’s talking like that about colour, chances are they’re one of your own on that fashion level.

Instant stalker.

Talking of one of your own....shortly after seeing De Trich’, bowling along, minding my own style business, I spotted a hat and a half. I couldnt resist getting some S&E footage. In the manner I thought of the esteemed fashion recorder and detail inspector, The Sartorialist. It was that rare thing, a city Deer Stalker, worn by a Swiss gentleman. I thought it was quite interesting, but am not really au fait with just going up to people and filming as yet, and perhaps the consequences of doing so. Am going to have to develop this knack. Any tips Scott? Am ‘all ears’ (that’s a different columnist again..)My subject became quite curious as to what I was all about, and was forced to ease self out of the situation that I had solicited. Sort of reverse queer stalker. Perhaps it’s an occupational hazard. I wonder if Scott Schuman gets into any interesting scenarios? Perhaps it’s different for Americans and style bloggers who operate at a different level? Perhaps should consider changing the name of the blog to ‘Look who’s stalking.’

Was engaged in some super sharp stealth styling on Sunday. Can’t possibly reveal a thing. Well, as devout discretion is not the fashion, I can divulge certain elements of the mission. Not a sausage about what the event whole caper was for though, deal? Wait for men’s fashion week’s in June to find out the full SP.

Hart felt.

I was in action with Spencer Hart (click) on a cheeky men’s runway show. Founder and creative director Nick Hart has been developing a line called simply Hart over the last couple of years. It pushes the Spencer Hart ethos further into the realms of directional and deconstructed men’s style. As ever the man Hart doesn’t give a hoot about fashion trends or fads, but communicates in atmospheres, moods and brilliant menswear.

The show was a tribute to Jazz singer Eddie Jefferson (click) , the man credited with inventing the singing style Vocalese. It was also inspired by the attitude and style of Nick’s late best pal Spencer.

Eddie Jefferson.

Nick dressed seven boys like hep Beatnik poets and later day bebop cats. The clothes were a rich summer take on suiting, including signature Hart paired down waistcoat/vests worn without shirts and even cream a summer seersucker pinstripe three piece fit for a Jive Hercule Poirot.

White spirit.

Belgian Six sir? Hercule Poirot: Original styler.

A reference of the Sporting Life character from Porgy&Bess was present, as was a slice or two of main line Spencer Hart thrown in for razor sharp punctuation.

Avon Long as Sporting Life in Porgy & Bess.

We had cast seven black and mixed race models to bind the look and provide a tight attitude. My main task in pre-show prep was to deliver a worthy haul of Persol sunglasses (click) and some bowler hat action, courtesy of Lock Hatters & Co. (click), nailed via trusty contacts in Fitzrovia and St.James. These were deployed along with cigars and copies of the FT which conspired to add depth and nuance.

Our MO was to style the crew in the Hart shop on Savile Row, then head to the venue like a Rat Pack ambush. No clothes rails required for this dynamic style unit . We trouped into waiting people carriers, and the Row was momentarily transformed into a scene from Harlem’s Jazz quarter in the Sixties, as our boys bowled in loose formation and hot afternoon sun. We looked sharp, we were set and the mood was buoyant.

Savile Row’s new Bebop-chic.

Despite turning up with seven immaculate models, three with second outfits, out of a no-compromise love of a certain plimsolls, we elected to re-use one pair twice in the ten exit show. This led to certain re-cycling complications. The remedy involved models number two and five turning into shoe throwing quarterbacks upon leaving the runway, slinging shoes across the back stage to me crouched like a kick placer in American football, then stuffing onto the feet of the waiting model. This ratcheted up the intensity of the proceedings no end. Getting the chaps to walk with vaguely similar paces and gaits was also tricky. Despite buckets of attitude these young ‘ens can turn quite weird when out on the catwalk. One kid had it down to a tee, so we had them all take note. After numerous attempted run-throughs and countless repetitions of the song Jeannine by Eddie Jefferson, we were a well oiled, slick- suited machine, we felt.

Jimmy Savile Rogue.

My pal Tendai (above) were reminded of a girl we knew called Janine, but her rep was more aspiring Bukake Queen than Royal Queen, as in the words of Jefferson’s son. She’s a yoga teacher in Thailand now, think turned out for the best.

The show was a lauded as resounding success, so cigars were smoked all round, (as they happened to be styling props). I just gave up the blighters unfortunately, so made do with an interview with that Hart cat about what this show was all about, (see end of video at top of post) . Watch this man’s upbeat sway take further effect; Hart and soul on Savile Row.

Nick Hart brings Bebop to Brit’ suave.

One is flat out, so no spare banter to publish at mo’. Did this on Monday though. The grounds of Danson manor were a pleasant place to be working. No time to bang on about it all, but there were vintage cars, young Slovenians and sun.

There’s tons of stuff to do today. Build a walk-down-wardrobe in a cellar, paint a bed white, meanwhile invent a new future for mens style imagery. Then there’s a Spencer Hart/Esquire runway show to prep for Sunday and a Vintage Seekers fashion shoot to plan for Monday…but it’s suddenly so very hot. Maybe this sort of documentary style coverage will do instead..

Coming soon to Style&Error a new franchise: TATTOO DATING. One tries to guess the date/era that the person got their ink done. Bonuses given for tat’ meanings too. In East London the craze has gone properly berserk, with all manner of pillocks walking round with gang markings, jakuza adornment or just ridiculous Shoreditch scribble of the week, so it should be a hoot. Ignore these posturing jokers, they’re nothing do with the trendies. At all.

Stubbs out (in the sun)

These two didn’t always appear this gnarly. They were quite sweet back in their day, see.

THE DON’T MAKE ‘EM LIKE THEY USED TO (SHIRTS THAT IS)

A rare sighting of a Prince of tailors, Edward Sexton, today on Savile Row. The man exudes sartorial verve. Style&Error salutes you. Edward was, of course, Tommy Nutter’s working partner who cut the ground breaking styles that brought fashion to the Row and changed the shape of tailoring for both men and women for good.

Mick and Bianca’s wedding 1971 in Nutter/Sexton.

Nutter and Sexton’s work deserves a full post and will get one in due course. Meanwhile here’s a nod to the man’s style right now, specifically shirt and tie stance.

One minute I’m on the phone to Edward, hammering out a deal for ‘our’ new boy, (to be revealed later in week), turn the corner, and there he is, smoking in the 1960’s style and looking double suave . It’s this sort thing that I came to London for.